


Devil's Backbone

by Leaveitbrii, radioacid



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series), Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Multiple Endings, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaveitbrii/pseuds/Leaveitbrii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioacid/pseuds/radioacid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes two to tango. It also takes two for retribution. The waltz isn’t danced alone after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, my name is

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: I don't recommend reading this if you're not into the whole gore, body/psychological horror, demonic junk. But then again, you played Until Dawn :^). Or confusing/unanswered stories since this fic will heavily have all of those things. Also, this is a Silent Hill/Climbing Class au if you still haven't guessed it. 
> 
> The co-author to this story is [flowerkingofangmar](http://flowerkingofangmar.tumblr.com/). Credit goes to their ideas, writing & creations.
> 
> This originally wasn't supposed to be in Ashley's pov, but you know :^) shit happens. Sorry. The following chapters will switch between Chris, Josh and Ashley. Whoops, I forgot to mention that this is some type flashback between the past and the future. It's an introduction. The following chapter's won't really be like this.

_Darkness is the briar—_

_Risky the open wound_

_Promised under the crumbled laughing patch of bloodstream_

_Mourning she wants the broken pieces_

_Terrible palms caring all hungry bodies_

_Destruction slamming against concrete_

_Now metal_

_A ripple of gore—_

_Stay silent._

_A dream world is falling apart_

_The real world—_

_That manipulative divorce between risky tides_

_Muttering fear_

_Eyes of stitches—_

_Unknit the seams of the girls who coexist_

_Wounds become the quiet art of the taste of acid tongue_

_So many bodies_

_They crumble_

_Unknown tonight—_

_Belonged, you say “here we are here”_

Ashley reads the poem out loud.  Voice the murmur of a siren, ever so gentle, yet strong, it’s hypnotizing.

Chris and Sam were both asleep, each in their respective beds.

It’s 5am, at least, when she last checked the time.

She’s sitting crisscross on the floor.  A tattered, splattered box placed next to her along with a variety of misshapen books, ragged leaflets and blemished, mustard colored sheets of papers.

The ink is smudged to almost every written item. She has a journal on her lap, using to rewrite whatever she can get out of it. She clicks the pen, one, two times, before bringing it between her teeth.

Ashley’s astounded. She never expected to be able to check this, at all, out of the library in town. It looked too antique. Historical. Sacred.

This box has been through a war fought in hell.

Ashley, ever lightly, plucks the next written poem. There were a total of three, including the one she had voiced.

Ashley stops her reading. Stills and waits. It’s almost been half a month since she’s moved in. And for the first time she’s hearing footsteps padding down the hall. It wasn’t common for Chris to be up at this hour knowing he had work by 8am. They weren’t heavy either. Ashley could already recognize the complaining wood under his weight as it creaked and groaned. Nor was it Sam. Sam was an early riser, but not this early. She usually woke a bit earlier than Chris to go out for an early run.

Ashley frowned, deciding whether or not she should call out.

Quiet. Tense. That’s all that met her after a while of waiting. She sits motionless, ears perked, eyes solely focused on her bedroom door. Ashley let out a sigh. She really needed to go to sleep.

It starts between the edges of reality. This little spark and blur, which coexist with one another. There’s a switch of a frame and everything’s kind of a haze of an old classic movie clip rolling by.

Sam sits in front of her. Pretty hazel eyes, messy blonde hair on a bun, pearly white teeth speaking of future moments. Ashley grips her hand, “You actually want to do this?”

Ashley knows the answer. Has seen the answer and experienced it second hand. Pretty hazel eyes avoid eye contact. Ashley hopes she doesn’t sound doubtful. “I’m here for you,” she looks towards their opened bedroom door. “So is Chris.”

It’s a full night. There’s a bark, bark, bark coming from outside their window, the sound of cussing coming from the living room as a game plays in the background, a humming white noise enraptures their ears coming from the ceiling fan atop of them. Ever the assertive one, Sam nods, bun bobbing up and down, strewn hair falling over her forehead.

The rustle of clothes and sheets bounce against their bedroom walls. Ashley lays down next to Sam, pillows bottoming under their weight.

“Want to make out?” That’s all she says. Simple question. Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing important. Just: Want to make out.

Sam has her eyes closed. Eyelashes fluttering open to make eye contact with Ashley. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and closing, a sizzle from an open soft drink swimming among the quite of the night.

A rosy hue tints Sam’s cheeks. They kiss. Lazy, slow pressed open mouths. It’s a function of a sleepless night between lovers.

1.2.3.4.5.  

Five days left.

Their new resolutions shaped up their new home.

Ashley leaned back against her sit. One more hour, that’s what Chris said three hours ago. They’ve been on the road for half a day. Pack the last of their bags the day before, shove everything in the back of Chris’ car at 4am, stop at the closest gas station at 4:10am for coffee and off they go towards their new destination; to be more exact, their new home which awaits them on the outskirts. A place which has never, remotely, been the ideal place for human civilization, this little rural town, grazed off the map, nestled among a forest of pine trees and wide, gaping, roads.

That’s all that’s been seen through the crystal clear windows. Series after series of shifting pine trees and broken roads. Until Chris began to slow down by a sign that said, ‘Welcome To Animas’.

“Guess we’re here.”

Ashley’s in between Chris and Sam. They’re under a heap of blankets, on their couch, facing the tv. Rain palpitating against the roof and windows, a woman screams, a shift of blue, purple, and peach, tones flash across their faces. Ashley flinches when thunder strikes. And that’s pretty much their Friday night. An early 2000s thriller, mystery film being shown on tv.

Ashley was staring at Chris halfway down the stairs. She guessed she must have startled him, seeing as Chris had visibly jumped a bit before stopping.

“Yeah?” he called.

Ashley looked around, towards the faceless shadows, roaming around their hallways; listening to the tick tick from downstairs.

Chris switched his weight from one leg to the other. The wood groaned a little bit too loud, for her liking, under him.

Her ear’s buzzed. “Milk’s all out.”

That’s all she says.  Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing important. Just: Milk’s all out.

It’s not what Ashley had originally thought of spilling, but, oh well. It could wait. She doubts that Chris would believe any word she said.

Chris’ eyes widen by a fraction, mouth slightly opening. That was probably not what he was expecting, she believes.

There’s a bark, bark, bark, followed by a howl from the cute, little floppy, dog next door.

Chris smiles up at her, warm and compliant, granting whatever she could have listed off. It reminded her of her father.

“Sure.”

Chris makes it to the bottom of the stairs, where he’s loomed over by the early morning darkness inside their ringing, pretty, family house.

“I’ll be back by 5.”

There’s a little, wooden, dog house on their neighbors yard, leaking with a torn, green, musty, blanket.

It’s been there since she first arrived. It’s missing the dog, who always came to piss on her yard, has been missing for the past month.

She looks over to the wooden light post, adjacent to the house. It’s scratched by the unknown, stapled with the face of a little girl.  It’s a missing poster. Soiled and nipped apart.

‘MISSING CHILD’. Big bold, inky letters, no one could really miss, when passing by, screaming at her from afar.

There’s a lady on the top floor, peering out her horizontal blinds. She’s been there for the past seven weeks. Exact same time, 6:00pm, right before the sun is about to fully sheath. Ashley knows she’s checking, waiting, with frantic panicked, biddy eyes as they circulate her perimeter, for a bloody jump scare.

Ashley accidently locks eyes with hers, heart plummeting when she’s met with feral eyes. They’re gone in the blink of an eye. Ashley inhales a shaky, lungful of stale air.

There’s no one outside.

The sun is about to set.

Ashley’s aware there’s something going on, has, known, since the first incident.

She thinks back to all those times she’s caught every civilian with a misty look to them, as if they weren’t really there. Ashley, whether sleep deprived or not, has caught herself gaping at how…how they sometimes looked as if someone took a variety of pictures and put them right in front of her like the scenery of a play. No one was moving, there’s no chirping birds, no barking dogs. The old timers lingering around are stuck in random poses—unmoving, fake, but so, very, very human.

She’s outside her house on her porch.

Inside Ashley hears Sam calling for her. Towards her far left, she hears an elderly woman, she met during a travel towards the pharmacy yelling, ‘There’s something in the fog'.

No one listens.

To her far left she sees the oncoming thickening gray wave, consuming the last thread of light.

Chris’ on her bed, phone glued to his face, playing a game. An almost half empty bottle of vodka sits on the counter next him. The song _i was all over her_ by salvia palth a soothing sluggish hum to their weary brains, coming from the radio.

Ashley considers asking him what’s wrong, playing with the words on her tongue weighing them out, testing them. Chris isn’t one come home with a wrinkled paper bag in hand holding cheap, corner store bought, vodka. Light purple bags staining under his eyes. Changing into sweats and coming into her room at 12am right after arriving home from the town over.

She’s in a baggy shirt and boy-shorts, hair a bit of a mess from turning back and forward, left and right, from all the random noises coming from within their new house.

Ashley places her hand atop of Chris’ belly. Squeezing.

Chris yelps, dropping his phone, missing his face by an inch. “What?”

Ashley shrugs. They both stay quiet, listening to the slow ensuing melody, heads placed under fluffy pillows, staring at the smooth textured, white, ceiling.

Ashley ends up helping Chris finish the bottle of vodka. They kiss. This little tired press of open mouths. Gross and putrid.

Chris asks, “Where’s Sam?”

Ashley says, “Asleep.”

He seems to think. For a second. His hands slip under her shirt, pulling it off. And that’s pretty much how they spend their time. With his fingers digging into her hipbones, pressing lips and tongues together. Drowsy little movements, breathy little moans, a murmur of a song in the background with rustling sheets.

Ashley’s walking down the sidewalk of their house when she first sees it.

‘MISSING CHILD’. A freshly, put up poster in big bold, inky letters; no one could really miss, when passing by. It wasn’t there this morning, she’s sure of that.

She takes her time examining the monochrome picture. Memorizing it, for the day it might come in need. It’s of a girl, head to the tips of their shoulders. Ashley guesses they’re about 7 to 10 years old. Hair picked up in a ponytail, with a few strands falling over their rounded face. Two, greyish, eyes stare back at her. Lips upturned into a knowing, little, smile.

Her breath hitches for a second when she realizes she has seen her before. Somewhere, somehow, it doesn’t, truly, matter because Ashley’s, fifty-five percent, sure she’s looking at-

“There’s something in the fog.”

Ashley jumps, heart pumping loudly. Hands a bit shaky. Throat a bit dry.

“There’s something in the fog.” They repeat in hushed tone.

Ashley takes a step back. It’s the same elderly lady she met at the pharmacy earlier on in the day, memories of bumping into her emerging; along with an apology for almost making them fall.

Ashley tries to smile. A bit twitchy, anxious, she doesn’t know how to deal with this.

“There’s something in the fog.” They repeat.

Ashley wipes a sweaty palm against her sweats. “W-what do you mean?”

Ashley couldn’t gauge how they look—face hidden under a barely see through, black veil usually seen during a mourning—but, she senses their eyes on her face. Frantic, up and down, left to right, it makes Ashley take another step back.

“It took my daughter.”

Ashley whips her head towards the missing child poster, her hair swooshing along the way.

Her neighbor’s dog gives a tiny, pained whimper before it begins to bark, bark, bark. Howl. Bark, bark, bark.

“I’m so-“ Ashley starts, staring back into nothing in particular. She quickly looks around the road, towards her yard, behind her, until she’s done a full 360.

The dog is still barking and Ashley doesn’t know whether or not her reality was on the brinks of shattering.

The dog howls. And the hairs behind her neck prickle; Ashley hastily whips her head towards the second floor window. Knowing someone was watching her, but finding nothing.

Ashley remembers meeting Sam back in high school, seventeen years old, senior year. The way she was introduced as Samantha Gilliam during one of those stupid, mandatory classes every senior had to take.

Determined, yet tried, hazel eyes reflecting the, yellow, florescent lights of their classroom, those same hazel eyes that are locked with hers, right now.

The bags are back, those peach, grey, puffy circles under her eyes and Ashley doesn’t know what to do. How to help. Ever since they came to this town, shit’s been going down the drain.

The last poem Ashley read from that box went a little bit like this:

_You tie yourself.  For Some reason—_

_I know this. This thing shaping your hands—_

_This earth is a small finding swallowing your emptiness—_

_The holes you make us swim in_

_You say, “Welcome.”_

_Stuck on twice a day—_

_Throat forced to crumb_

_Mouthing a way into places in your soul_

_Coming back, you tell yourself, “Cynic, watch them die.”_

_Easy to live on a plain hole_

_You sent her away_

_Finding months where mother hurts a real arm_

_It’s not as bad, it seems_

_This earth—_

_This becoming—_

_A small fleck to no end in a universe_

_Underwater, you say, “Get off. Saftey is alone. We need her back.”_

_A broken clock—_

_Forced to drop, you say, “Give her back.” It’s time._

Ashley stands in the doorway, hand curled around the doorknob, aimlessly staring ahead, mind fuzzy and blank. She can hear the tick tick of Chris' inherited grandfather clock behind her. It's a soft, distant noise, slowly matching the beat of her heart.  
  
Ashley blinks, confusion filling her thoughts as she stares ahead, the familiar stretch of hallway before her, not the laundry room. Ashley bites her bottom lip, worrying it between teeth, slowly retracing her thoughts. Sam had left an hour ago, Chris already gone when they had woken up, and Ashley decided to do laundry. She had placed clothes inside, snapped the lid closed and twisted the dial. Walked up, up the small flight of steps into the living room, swiped her notebook from the couch and sat outside on the porch, scribbling down plot lines for a story until her alarm had gone off.  
  
Ashley knows their house, knows every intimate crevice and compartment because she helped Sam decorate it while Chris made sure they had internet and a couch. Ashley knows the path downstairs to the laundry room, this tiny space between the garage and house, separated by two blue doors, right beside the living room, down, down a small flight of steps, it sits. The laundry room.  
  
"I could've sworn.." Ashley sighs, glancing back at the closed front door. "Guess daydreaming will do that to you."  
  
But she remembers leaving the porch, remembers making the short trip to the laundry room and she was heading upstairs with a basket of clean clothes. Ashley frowns, taking in the familiar arrangement of picture frames perched on a ledge, right underneath the stairs, a tulip sitting in a vase placed beside a wicker basket filled with mail on top of Sam's decorative column.

Chris' jacket sits on the rack, Sam's scarf hung up beside it. The wood underneath Ashley's feet is cold as she wanders forward, passing the downstairs bathroom, frown still in place as she rounds the corner, kitchen staring blank and empty when she passes. Ashley cuts through the living room, nearly tripping over a PS4 controller in her haste as she stumbles towards the first of two blue doors.  
  
She pushes it open, alarm beating along her ribs as she finds herself standing in the entrance hallway again. Ashley spins around, murky gray blackness lingering behind her.   
  
"Okay." Ashley mumbles, trying to ignore the uneasiness she feels creeping along her ribs. Ashley idly wonders if she's dreaming, but the sky seems darker than before as light spreads through open windows. She might be. It's what Chris would say.  
  
Ashley can hear clicking coming from upstairs, the soft tap tap tap of heels across the hardwood. She glances at the ceiling, noting that when she walks, it walks, when she stops, the sound stops. Ashley's hands tremble into fists at her sides. She hurries forward, the quick clack, clack that follows upstairs matching her pace.  
  
"Sam?" Ashley calls out. "Chris?"

Her voice is met with a stilling silence, the grandfather clock quiet as she walks forward. Ashley breathes, quickly hurrying through the dull gray living room, through the fading blue door and-  
  
"No." Ashley gasps upon seeing the same hallway, a dry smell filling the air. She runs a shaky hand through her hair, lips quivering. The pictures are facing her, Sam and Chris' smiling faces peering back. Ashley wanders over, taking one of the frames in her hands. It's from a year ago, from Sam's birthday at Disney World. A picture of the three of them. Just. Ashley sets the picture down quickly, reaching for another frame. Just Sam and Chris. She searches and searches until finding an empty picture.  
  
Ashley shakily brings it closer to her face, fingers trembling as she turns it over, yanking out the backboard. 'Miss Little Hopeless' is written on the back of the picture in black sharpie. Ashley turns it around, staring intently at the absence of a person. She's missing from all the pictures, every picture, no crude cut outs or scratched out faces. The space she filled was empty or absent completely.

A small whirring noise fills the air, like a clock rewinding backwards. Ashley's head snaps to the side, gazing at the opening to the kitchen. She wanders towards the living room, fear heating up her insides when she finds it empty. The grandfather clock is frozen at 1:34, rosewood case fading and lifeless. Ashley wanders over to it, tapping the dial when she reaches it. It begins spinning backwards, the whirring noise growing more and more quiet until it's a loud white noise.  
  
Ashley stumbles away from it, the creak of the laundry room door opening slowly. She startles, crushing the picture in her hand. The clacking of heels is back, thunderous and loud as they descend down the hall upstairs, pounding down, down, down the stairs. Ashley panics, darting towards the laundry room door. She stumbles through, falling to the floor with muted thump.  
  
Ashley whimpers, propping herself up on her elbows as she struggles to stand. Her knees buckle, aching and red. Tears fill her eyes as she finds herself standing in the entrance hallway once again. The pictures are missing completely this time, left in their place is a wallow talkie that has 'read me' written on it. The stairs leading upstairs are gone, only the dangling ceiling light remains, space where the balcony sits wiped away with a stone white wall.

The light in the kitchen is on, a deep shade of pink bathing the room. A present sits on the island, stools arranged to make a small pathway. Ashley takes a step forward, the walkie talkie cutting on with a sharp buzz of static.  
  
"Now, now, girlie, can't open the present without asking daddy first."  
  
Dread surges through Ashley, heart pounding loudly in her chest as her mind supplies exactly whose voice that is, a voice she hasn't heard since she was a child.

"Can I open it, daddy? Please?" That's her voice. That's her voice. Ashley whimpers, unable to stop herself as she listens to the static pause and buzz, like breathing, like its listening. A deep chuckle fills the room, planting the smooth trudge of terror deep inside her as every memory pressed against the wall of her subconscious. It's blurred, mostly meshes of peach colored skin and red and no one is talking.  
  
"Yes, baby girl."  
  
The stools shift, dragging along the time with a sharp noise. Ashley steps forward, listening to the quiet breaks between static as she walks forward. The living room is dark when she passes, a large empty black space. Ashley swallows hard, tears prickling her eyes as the stools shift again, following her movements as she walks closer and closer to the island.  
  
The pink lighting distracts from the dark puddle forming under the wrapped gift. Ashley touches it, warm and sticky under her palm. The gift begins to shake, a beating noise that sounds like the grandfather clock.  
  
"Open it." The man says.

Ashley obeys, fingers slick a deep shade of pink as she handles the bow, pulling away thin strips of ribbon. Ashley peels off the wrapping, taking in the soaked, dirtied box underneath. She opens it, immediately assaulted with the smell of rotted meat left in the sun too long. Ashley doesn't want to look inside, can't bare to. Her eyes sting, throat coated with a heavy layer of vomit that she keeps trying to swallow down.  
  
Ashley stumbles back, hand clasped over her mouth as the smell grows stronger and stronger. She braces a hand on her knee, halfway bent as bile forces its way out. Her legs tremble, stomach hollowing as dark liquid slips past her lips. It pools onto the floor sluggishly. A clicking noise comes from the walkie talkie.  
  
"Tsk, tsk."  
  
Ashley breathes raggedly, placing a hand on her stomach. She notices the stools are gone, the present sitting on the counter top rewrapped neatly. The man on the walkie talkie laughs loudly, distorted and awful and a light clicks on in the living room, this thin line of white cutting through the deep blackness. Ashley stumbles back, bare feet stepping back into her own vomit. The light twitches and the pink overhead light cuts out, bathing the house in darkness.  
  
Ashley fumbles around the kitchen island, hands grasping the edge as heels scrape across wood. The light moves fluidly, a single beam cutting through pitch black. Ashley hunkers down behind the counter, heart pounding in her chest as she tries to think but all she can hear is herself screaming inside her own head.  
  
Clack. Clack. Clack. It's walking slowly towards the kitchen, light beam shining over Ashley's head. Ashley bites down on her lip hard, trembling as she takes in the rotting appearance of the kitchen walls. The heels are rounding the first corner of the island. Ashley forces herself to move, shifting around in the opposite direction. She peaks over the top of the island, barely able to see the tall form looming overhead, light growing narrower as if squinting as the thing surveys the area Ashley was in.

Ashley's eyes adjust, blinking rapidly as she takes in the short distance between herself and the.. woman. Ashley notices the long, shaggy hair, the slender form tucked over as it searches. She eyes the kitchen entrance, calculating the distance between herself and it.  
  
"Oh, oh. I wouldn't do that, sweetheart." Says the voice and the light cuts towards her, blinding and bright and Ashley screams, legs moving before she can register she's running. It clacks after her, long limbs kicking over as it grumbles, garbled words after her. Ashley isn't sure why she doesn't run to the front door, stumbling over the couch, the end table, knocking over a lamp and her shoulder hits the door to the laundry room.  
  
Ashley crashes to the floor, mouth sour and screaming as she flails and kicks, elbows digging into the tile as she forces herself away from the door. The house is quiet, quiet and grey when she opens her eyes. Ashley cries softly, collapsing to the floor with a broken sob. This was a dream. It had to be. Chris would come soon and wake her up and everything would be normal, normal and-  
  
Her cellphone rings. Ashley startles, blinking wetly as she fumbles around for her phone. It's absent from her usual spot in her pocket. Ashley winces as she rises to her feet, stumbling past the new arrangement of pictures. The ringing grows louder, phone clattering around on whatever surface it is. Ashley pauses in front of the downstairs bathroom, door closed to her, but she can hear ringing from the other side.

Ashley twists the knob, easing it open slowly. The soft white light of her phone peers up from inside the bowl of the sink, ringing loudly. She crosses the short distance, the number on the screen blocked out under the words 'Home'. Ashley grasps it shakily, lifting it to her ear as she answers.  
  
"S-Sam?"

  
"This is a reminder call for, Ashley Dillani, your father is waiting for you at the corner of 43 and Fill, July 8th, at 1:34. Please press 1 to confirm, press 2 to cancel. Please press 3 to speak with a representative."  
  
Ashley fumbles with her phone, confused and worried. She punches 3. The phone rings and rings.  
  
"Riiiiing. Ring, ring, sweetheart." Ashley drops her phone, staggering away as a deep, throaty laugh echoes from the receiver. She steps back into the hallway, away from the laughter. The bathroom door snaps closed causing her to jump. Ashley moves away from the bathroom, staring warily around the hallway. The portraits on the walls are empty as well, Sam and Chris' eyes in their pictures cut out, leaving behind cardboard holes.

Ashley turns to the kitchen, where the lighting is normal and the present sits in wait. She moves towards it, glancing at the living room as she passes. A woman sits on the couch, unmoving, pale with deep red hair that sits messy in tangles on her head. She doesn't move to acknowledge Ashley, hands folded neatly in her lap. She's staring at the clock.  
  
Ashley turns back to the present, stepping into the kitchen. She touches the packaging, smoothing a hand along it. Ashley unwraps it slowly, noticing how it isn't soaked this time. Inside is a dead cat, orange with long fur, cut open with the walkie talkie sitting inside its stomach. It still says 'read me', but Ashley notices the slight crease in the tape as if something was folded underneath.  
  
Ashley hesitantly reaches inside, blood roaring in her ears as she gets closer and closer to the cat. It lies still. Her fingers touch the top of the walkie talkie, grasping the antenna with shaky fingers. She pulls it from the cat, cringing at the wet squelch that comes after when she removes it. A low meow fills her ears. Ashley startles, blinking back tears as the cats mouth falls open and its chest begins to move, softly meowing.  
  
Its eyes slowly open, circling milky irises that focus on Ashley. The eyes close again and it breathes shallowly while a sharp clicking comes from the walkie talkie on her hand.  
  
"She's going to take you away. She's going to take you away. She's going to take you away. She's going to take you away." The voice says over and over and over, constantly repeating the same string of words. Ashley tries not to focus on it, peeling away the tape to reveal a small folded note. The voice stops when she carefully peels it away from the tape. Ashley sets the walkie talkie down, beginning to unfold the note. It's a child's drawing, creased and badly wrinkled. A red haired child sits amongst grass, a taller red haired woman sitting beside her with a knife in hand. There's a crudely drawn house with red raindrops pouring out the upper windows.  
  
The walkie talkie crackles. "No one said you could open your gift, baby girl."

Ashley's skin curls in disgust, shakily setting the walkie talkie back into the box with the dead cat. It croaks out a low meow. Ashley turns around, a sharp cry escaping her lips as the woman in the living room dangles before her, feet hovering over the ground, limbs twitching sporadically. A pale green eye locks on Ashley, the other swirling wildly as if churning inside a spiral.  
  
"Momma's mad, sweetheart. Keep it secret between us ok? She gets jealous easy."  
  
A blood curling howl sounds through the air, heavy stomping pounding upstairs and the woman hovering before her evaporates into a wet cloud of red smoke. Ashley makes a run for it, fear lacing every vein, every pore and the laundry room feels so far away, the living room unnaturally stretched, long and narrow. The portraits on the wall stare after her, cackling wildly as she runs.

Ashley dares to peer over her shoulder, dares to see what is creating that monstrous sound and she wishes she hadn't, she wishes she never looked back. Stitched together with discolored mounds of human flesh is a creature, something with horns and beady eyes and a wide mouth the color of diamonds. It has no legs, only long muscled arms, thumping loudly after her.  
  
Ashley screams, tripping over her own two feet and her shoulder hits something solid, something solid that crashes under her weight. She collapses into the foyer of the entrance hallway. Ashley smacks her hands on the floor, desperately praying that she's back at home, back to her normal, boring home.  
  
"Wakey. Wakey."  
  
Ashley heaves a dry sob, curling into a ball on the floor as the voice in the walkie talkie laughs, deep and amused. It pauses, staticky and empty noise, as if allowing her a moment to collect herself. Ashley wipes the snot from her nose, pressing herself up off the floor. The hallway is different. The kitchen is gone, a blank wall standing where it used to be.  
  
Bodies hang from the ceiling, strung up like bits of meat and they look like children, skinned and small, muted mouths open to the dark ceiling. There's a basket at the far end of the hallway, right beside the living room, where the walkie talkie sits, blue light glinting.  
  
Ashley takes a step forward, then another and another until she's breaking into a sprint as the bodies turn after her, otherwise unmoving and lifeless. She swipes the walkie talkie from the basket, pressing it to her lips.  
  
"P-Please.. I just. I just want to go home." Ashley cries, pressing her back against the wall. "Please. Please. Please."  
  
"Gotta ask momma first, sweetheart."

A spidery hand crawls along her shoulder, sharply squeezing tiny tremors through Ashley's skin. Ashley tries not to gag, the thick, heady smell of rotten sewage and burnt rubber filling her nose. She chokes on a cry, dread curling along her spine like a whisper and she can't breathe, can't breathe.  
  
Ashley gasps, forcing herself away, walkie talkie clacking to the floor in her haste and she runs, not looking back, can't look back. Deep, roaring laughter follows her, so painfully familiar and awful, the sharp scratch of nails against wood. Ashley swallows down a scream, trying to focus. She just has to get to the laundry room. Just get to the laundry room.  
  
Ashley can't find the blue door, can't even find the living room and the hallway is so long and dreary, pieces of walls crumbling down until it's just nasty, stained cardboard. Ashley collides into the front door, chest heaving violently. She has to turn around, to find the laundry room. Ashley does, eyes screwed shut, and it feels like her hearts going to explode.  
  
There is silence. Still and soft and Ashley breathes. She cracks an eye open, hallway a rustic red glow but the living room entrance is back, wide and enticing. The walkie talkie is nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Fuck," she whimpers. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Ashley presses up off the door, staggering forward on shaky legs. She's alone, or so it feels like, but something is watching her, watching closely. Ashley walks towards the living room. It feels like hours have passed and the entrance seems so far away and she's so, so tired. It changes the closer she reaches it, shaping tall and round, dripping dark red liquid from the top.  
  
Ashley fights her revulsion, disgust ripping through every pore as the liquid drips down, clumpy and thick. The living room looks like the insides of an animal, a slow beating heart strewn up where Chris' clock should be. Its floors are sticky, translucent as dark orbs float around underneath. There are ears on the wall, deformed and twitching, a small set of eyes wedged into the ceiling, staring absently. Ashley can see the blue door, surrounded in veins and blackened puss. She tries not to cry.  
  
Ashley wanders inside, nearly screaming when the entrance snaps shut behind her with an audible crunch. The room trembles and the eyes turn to her. Ashley notices a knife lying in the corner closest to her, stained red and rusty. She hobbles over to it, trying to ignore the squelching sound the floor makes as she walks.

Ashley keeps faced forward, bending down and patting the moist floor for the knife. Her eyes don't leave the room, heartbeat matching the one on the wall. She grasps the knife shakily, earning a narrowed look from the eyes on the ceiling. The ears stop shaking, all tense and alert. Garbled voices fill the room, distorted and loud and they remind Ashley of her mother, that familiar disappointed tone.  
  
"Need a hint? Oxygen."  
  
Ashley has no idea what that's even supposed to mean because there are no lungs here, no windpipe, just the beating heart and ears and veins. Ashley inhales sharply, eying the blue door then the heart. There was a vein connecting the two, slender and branch like flowing blood into the door with a pounding noise. One of the ears twitches, then another and soon they're all trembling again, chatter loudly filling the room.

Ashley struggles with her footing, the room beginning to shake again and it seems smaller than before, a low crunching sound echoing behind her. Ashley dares to look back and she wishes she hadn't. There are teeth where the entrance should be, broken and gnarled and moving. Blood collects along the floor, bubbling and popping wetly as the wall shifts forward. Ashley panics. It's getting closer and closer.  
  
Ashley scrambles backwards, spinning around to try and find a way out. The only option is the blue door. Does she cut the heart? The vein? Ashley struggles to breathe, chest swelling under her trembling hands as she staggers around. She walks up to the heart, glancing up at the eyes in the ceiling. They peer down at her, curious and amused.  
  
Ashley tries the vein, rolling to the tips of her toes, knife shaky in her hands as she plunges it deep inside. There is a distant roar that sounds like a clap of thunder and the room grows smaller, grumbling filling the room once again and it's not deep enough. The stab isn't deep enough, she can see the blood still flowing, so she stabs it again and again. Ashley doesn't know she's screaming until her throat runs dry, blood squirting onto her as she slices and churns and rips and that noise is so loud.  
  
Ashley hears the creak of the blue door. She glances over at it, nearly sobbing in relief when she finds it open, misty blackness circling inside. The room begins to peel, wet slumps of flesh hitting the ground with a sickening noise. Ashley can hear doors slamming from behind her, the familiar, awful clack of heels against the wet floor.  
  
Ashley looks back this time, every hair on her body standing up straight when she sees what's wandering towards her. It's the woman, bigger and legless, hair wild and so, so red, eyes bright grey and hollowed. Her bones crack as she walks, arms fused into a pair of tall black stilettos and she's running, running fast towards Ashley.  
  
Ashley screams, slipping on a puddle of blood and she nearly falls, knees scraping the surface just barely before she regains her balance. The woman is close, so close and Ashley can almost feel the white glare in her eyes, empty and dead and it's so, so close. The blue door is closing, veins healing as blood pumps and pumps and she's not going to make it, she's not, she's not.  
  
Ashley squeezes through, skin pinched between wood and metal and she hears it rip and then-  
  
The sounds stop, movement ceases, the world is silent and bright and normal and Ashley is on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Normal and wall. She sits up slowly, a sharp pain following. Her skin feels wet and slimy and she stares down in horror at the cuts on her arm, broken splinters caressing her fingers. Her nails are broken and split, elbows bruising a deep shade of purple.  
  
She blinks rapidly, sobbing loudly as the sound of a door slamming shut startles her. Ashley forces herself to her feet, staggering backwards. She only sobs harder when she sees Sam's face, hazel eyes bright with alarm and she's rushing towards Ashley with outstretched arms.  
  
"Hey, hey? What happened?"  
  
Ashley shakes her head furiously, wailing until the slow trudge of terror dimmers inside her. It takes a while for Sam to be able to coax Ashley out of the laundry room. The door is broken, bloodied claw marks caressing the wood.  
  
Chris finds them on the couch, Ashley bundled up in a thick quilt with Sam wrapped securely around her. He glances at them, then the broken blue door, eyebrows raised and Ashley can see the beginning of a confused frown. Chris wanders over to them, hesitantly kneeling down before Ashley. She turns away from him.

"What happened? Ash?" Chris lightly touches her knee, words laced with sugary concern.  
  
"We have ghosts." Ashley tells him.  
  
"Ash-"  
  
"Chris." Sam interrupts. Ashley peers up at her, knowing that look she's giving Chris. It's the "can we talk" look and it's only reserved for Chris, who does as he always does, sighs and nods and follows after Sam into another part of the room. Ashley hears bits and pieces of their conversation, mostly "something happened" and "it's not fucking ghosts, Sam".  
  
It makes her feel awful, like a child afraid of the dark but this wasn't a dream, wasn't some sick fantasy she's made up in her head. That room was real. That voice was real.  
  
"Chris, seriously, something is wrong." Sam hisses, frowning intently.  
  
Chris folds his arms across his chest. He rubs the bridge of his nose, glasses shifting with each movement. Chris sighs heavily, glances at Ashley then back to Sam.  
  
"We need to take her to the hospital."

"Yeah." Sam agrees but neither of them move. Sam staring at Chris, Chris staring at the floor with a look of disbelief. Ashley rises to her feet, holding the blanket tight around her. She walks over to them, shakily grasping the sleeve of Chris' jacket. It hurts to do so, fingers sore and raw. Sam sighs, forcing a smile.  
  
"Let's get you fixed up."  
  
Ashley nods slowly. "I'm sorry."  
  
"No, Ash. It's not your fault." Chris tells her and Sam rushes to agree, both crowding her with a weird sort of warmth. It's comforting but honestly she just wants to get out of this fucking house.

The film keeps on rolling. Blurs hazing and switching this reality they’ve living in. With a switch of a frame Ashley’s heart is pumping violently against her ribcage. A fraction of her brain is crashing, alarms screeching, begging to be listened. The other part is trying to figure out a way to not get caught. To not die. Not to become a brutalized, fucked up, sporadic number of the many deaths she has seen so far. She’ll make it out of here. She has to.

Her breath comes out in shallow puffs. A tear runs down her cheek. She wipes at it furiously, smearing more crimson streaks all over her injured face.

Her back is pressed against the cold, rusted, metal rods of the elevator, reminiscent of a cage. Faceless shadows sip through the cracks; the elevator shrieks and wails the lower if ascends. 

Her eyes look down at the ground where dried blood coated the, uneven, discolored tiles. Ashley tried to think. Tried to gather her thoughts as her brain violently thumped, she just wanted to get out of this, fucking, living nightmare. But all that surged through her head was a mantra of ‘ _I’m going to be okay_ ,’ ‘ _I’m going to be okay_ ,’ ‘ _I’m going to be okay_ ,’ on repeat. Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, it was beginning to hurt.

Ashley couldn’t focus. She couldn’t focus. Not back then and not right now.  

It felt like millennium before there was a hefty stop. Ashley loses her footing for a second, a hand holds onto a rod to regain balance. The doors slide open achingly so. Ashley’s breath hitches at the sight of the new room she’s in. Her eyes prickle at the stagnant, foul, heat wave of odor being emitted through.

Her hands shake. She focuses her flashlight on the profound long, dark, hallway. Ashley takes her first step, placing her foot against the barbed floor, then another and another until the doors behind her shut loudly, making her gasp. Her ears buzz. Her body throbs from all the prior events she’s experienced, so far.

Ashley has lost track of time, she doesn’t know how long she’s been walking, honestly, she doesn’t really care. Not anymore.

Ashley stills.

A squelch resounds behind her. This chilling, little, sickening noise that makes every hair in her body stand. Her throat closes off and Ashley, simply, stills. Eyes specifically focused ahead of her, where there’s a void awaiting, tempting her make a run for it. But Ashley only keeps every muscle rigid.

A static, wheezing cough comes next.

Fear grips every crevice within her. Terror overflowing from a choked up panic, her ribcage might just crush her lungs and her heart might just explode. She wants to cry, oh god, she wants cry, or maybe scream. Shout. Howl so damn loud.

Ashley couldn’t move.

There’s another putrid squelch of feet, sticking and unsticking from the floor, dragging rotting flesh along with it, which only gets stuck and ripped off by the barbed wire known as the ground under them.

 _I’m going to die_ , she thinks. She’s going to die if she doesn’t move. Ashley shakily takes a step forward. One, two, three, four feet away from the wheezing being left behind.

The flashlight keeps on lighting her path. There’s still no visible door leading to a room. The walls keep on decaying the deeper she goes, scabbing and oozing black lumps, which only drip and pull under her feet.

She comes to a stop again, when her flashlight flickers weakly. Rage and anguish lumping in her throat.

“This can’t be happening,” she hisses.

She shakes the flashlight, harshly, until the light flickers one more time before stilling. Ashley stares at it, hopeful. Her heart pumps.

Ashley sighs in relief, when it stays on.

She begins to move forward until dread hits her full force. The light flickered out. _The light has flickered out_. The squelching from before was back. That awful wheezing cough is right behind her, so close, so so so so close, Ashley screams before surging towards the void she knows is upfront.

Her mind blanks for a nanosecond. Every little speck of sound fills, drowns, and buzzes her ears.

It’s dark and paranoia keeps on, wrapping, manifesting and eating her thoughts away. Every possible worse outcome has her feet dashing as fast as they possibly can. Visions of what could and would happen to her if that thing following after catches, or so much as touches, her, become a show of fireworks hissing and exploding in her head.

She knows what happens, fuck, she knows what happens, fuck.

Ashley accidently slips under a lump of black ooze. Her hand protecting her from any more damage, but they burn and scorch, her palms pierced with the sharp barbed wire. Ashley whimpers before pushing herself up. She’s sure she felt the presence of that thing an inch away from her.

She runs, runs, runs, runs, runs and runs, trying to block any more unwanted thoughts, other than **survive** , out.

There’s the sound of falling rods all over the place. Ashley doesn’t know where it’s coming from. It’s dark.

It’s dark.

It’s dark.

Ashley falls. Her heart stops at the same time that her breath does. Ashley’s falling, down, down, down and down and she’s screaming her throat feels broken.

There’s an echoing splash when she lands on a thick murky, sticky, liquid. Her body aches when she hits something. Although Ashley doesn’t really register the pain because she’s barely surfacing from whatever it is she has landed herself in.

Her hands splash around, feet propelling her up and Ashley’s coughing, spitting out this stomach-churning liquid that’s all over her, coating and dripping.

It smells too much of rotting corpses. Too much of blood. The smell has been enclosed for decades; Ashley almost passes out from the stench alone.

She carefully wipes at her mouth and eyes. Looks around and tries to scream again, yet her vocal cords are too damaged to cooperate, all she feels is a raspy flare of pain. Ashley begins to push away every human limb floating around her. She hastily swims towards the edge, of this fucked up ocean of death, until she’s pushing herself up and out. A wet thump resounds as her body hits the tiled floor. Trembling little ripples ease their way into her.

“This is so fucked up,” Ashley dry-heaved. She slowly propped herself up. Standing and quickly scanning the room she was in now. It was dimly lit with rusted, grated walls. There were two ways to go: left or right.

Ashley bit the inside of her cheek. She swallowed hard as she walked forward. Murmuring, ‘right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right’ under her breath.

A loud splash resounded behind her. Ashley jumped, heart skipping a beat. She went left. Speed walking through every corridor she ended up facing. Everything was exactly the same. Same rotting walls; same broken and bloody, tiled floors; same feeble ruby, orange hues giving light to Ashley’s path, then came a door. Right in front of her.

An unwelcome series of thoughts overcame her. If she opened it what would happen? Ashley delved deep into the thought. Whispers began to stick on the logical part of her brain. Afflicting little scenes flashing one by one before her eyes, Ashley’s heart rate picked up.

Her gruesome death could be awaiting her behind this closed door. But then again it could be her salvation. She’d live. She’d get out of here and run, run, run, run, run and **never** look back until she was out of this town. The thought felt so soothing, so right, so hopeful, it made her chest seize all of its agony.

She reached out her hand. Placed it on the door knob and squeezed. Her palm pumped and hissed back in pain, but Ashley only twisted and pushed the door open, slowly.

The room looked more inviting. It was normal, or as normal as it would get. She crossed the threshold, closed the door and pressed her back against it. Heavy breathing as she thought of everything that’s happened to her so far.

“Fuck,” she whispered.  Ashley closed her eyes hard.  She hoarsely whispered ‘Fuck’ one more time, before sliding down the door, head thumping against it.

Sam was…

A lump wedged itself between Ashley’s throat.

Sam was…

Her chin began wobbling, she bit at her lip raw until the flame behind her eyes, began pouring down one by one, two, three, four tears and she couldn’t stop crying. Heaving and snot smearing all over her bleeding lips’, trying to compose herself, but it was _fucking_ useless, the tears wouldn’t stop. Everything hurt way too fucking much.

She eventually came to a stop. Throat, eyes, body and insides sore. The lights atop were just as dim as before.

She had to move. She had to get out of here.

A hopeful thought floated through, ‘Maybe the others were still alive,’ but Ashley wouldn’t be finding them any time soon, if she kept on sitting here, wherever here was.

Ashley released a shaky breath. Her steps echoing through the new corridor she was walking.

“Okay,” She muttered. “Okay. We can do this.”

Ashley came to another dead end. Left or right. Right or left. An awful, ear piercing animalistic noise, was coming from either sides.

Ashley turned both ways. Pieces of her hair unsticking from the back of her neck, it sent shivers running through her body. It was coated in the sticky substance from back then. Ashley tried to ignore everything, deciding to go right and hoping for the best, yet the farther she went the darker it got.

She wasn’t even that far when Ashley almost pissed on her pants, her body freezing on the spot, a chill running up her spine.

She didn’t know what was ahead. She didn’t _want_ to know what was ahead. A munching gurgle along with the rip of flesh, kept on sounding, slamming, against her ears, gripping every sense within her.

A foul, rotting smell assaulted her nose; Ashley almost threw up before she held her breath. She could vividly perceive what was happening in front of her. Especially with all this void less darkness, swimming around.

She slowly took a step back, body shaking, wheezing all the while. She didn’t stop walking backwards until she was back to the dim light. Ashley took a gulp of the metallic tanged oxygen, coughing afterwards.

She had to keep on moving.

Ashley had to keep on moving. She had to try to get out here.

 

* * *

 

They don’t know who they are. Who are they?  Their ears perk, flick and twitch, at every possible sound that catches their attention. They don’t know who or where they are. They can’t see. But they can hear and it allows them to fill in the gaps.

They have a nose also. They sniff and…and they can smell up to the last speck of blood, that’s been engraved deep in this place, they find themselves in.

They have elongated, thin, bone sucked, limbs. Taught skin stretched and pulled over them. They know their hunched, crawling, on the gravel and sniffing, closing in on _this_ smell.

It’s familiar. Their brain can’t associate it to anything. But it’s so familiar, so good, it’s so delicious their mouth splits open. Drool and blood oozing out of their over stretched mouth. It slices from ear to ear, strings of muscle still connected, revealing yellow tinted razor-edged teeth.

There’s a part of their subconscious that’s trying to access this body. It can’t . The darkness, their desire, this tinted, soiled yearning they had keeps on consuming them.

No other thought other than to hunt and eat allowed to filter through their animalistic fiddled brain.

Their claws click and hiss as they roam the streets. Looking. Searching.

The smell keeps on getting stronger, richer, the more they sniff and follow the sound of crunching rocks under human feet.

The drip, drip, drip, of the fluids escaping their mouth reaches their ears. They flicker and try to focus a little better on where this human is.

They need to find them. They smell so good. So good, so good, so good, so good, so good, so goo-

There’s a scratchy noise they can’t quite register. There’s something being said to them, but it sounds a lot like distorted spasms, shocking and pulling at their subconscious.

The footsteps are getting closer, rather carefully. They can smell fear, regret, anguish and hope. The last one makes them emit a feral growl.

The human makes another scratchy noise. It makes them shake their head, back hunching farther, protruding pointy back bones.

They sniff, their tongue lolling out.

They can’t see, but their nose and ears allow for a perfect replacement.

They’re aware they’re advancing forward, a bit attentive, towards this human who’s apparently calling to them.

They smell so good, so lovely, it drives them feral, they can’t really help themselves, but jump and sink lengthy sharp teeth on this warm, shivering slab of meat right in front of them.

  
 


	2. They said it would be a treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in a month before shit gets progressively super bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever. But i'm working on having a chapter done by each week.  
> Here's what our [costar](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9VMJkSW9M4-WE9aUmJrQlZLMEE/view?ts=56cbd775) looks like. Drawn by Leaveitbrii.  
> Josh does appear in this chapter if you're wondering, when he'll make an entrance :-]  
> By the end of the chapter you should listen to Catamaran by Allah-Las. It'll heighten the experience. I tried it. It was beautiful.

Chris sits on the stool, eyes heavy and nose tingling as the smell of banana pancakes wafts through the kitchen. There’s a pair of birds outside going chirp, chirp, chrip and he’s wondering why Sam is even awake at this time, or more specifically how she can wake up at this time every single day. The radio is on low, a static of noise as a man talks about someone’s anniversary.

Sam has her hair down, wet and shiny. She doesn’t turn around when she says, “you’re up early” instead moving over to the fridge to put away a carton of almond milk. She leans down, shorts rising along with her movements.

Chris groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I have a job interview at nine, might as well get up.”

“Oooh and here I thought you wanted some of my special banana pancakes.”

“Haha.” Chris deadpans.

Sam finishes serving herself two fluffy pancakes before taking out another plate and stacking it with three placing it in front of Chris. The rest are covered with a bowl, Chris guesses they’re for when Ashley she woke up.

A comfortable silence settles between them. Their chewing and clanking utensils a background noise along with the radio. Chris lets his mind blank.

“So, how do you like it here so far?”

Sam is staring at him when he looks up from his plate.

He shrugs. “We’ve been living here for about a week, Sam, I don’t know. The people seem strange.” Chris leans forward, as if he was about to share a secret. “Seriously, have you seen any of them?”

Sam is about to say something, lips parting before there’s a thump coming from upstairs. Sam closes her mouth eyes looking towards the ceiling. She looks back at Chris with an unreadable expression on her face.

Chris has his finger an inch away from his ear, eyes looking left to right, mouth a bit parted. Then he says, “Then there’s that.” He picks up his fork, stabbing it on a slice of pancake. “Freaky.”

Sam rolls her eyes at this tone of voice, smiling afterwards. “Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts, Chrissy?”

Chris has his fork between his lips, pulling it out and chewing thoughtfully. He scrunches his nose. “I don’t. It’s just rats.”

Sam hums. “And why would you think that?”

“Um, one it’s coming from the attic. Two you can clearly hear the scratch of nails against wood. And three, my dearest, I know what they sound like. I used to have some back in my home, when I was a kid.”

Sam has an innocent smile on her face. She pulls a strand of hair back over her ear. “You see Chris, back in my day-“

Chris makes a noise in his throat. “Okay. Whatever, jeez.”

Sam giggles. “Aw, come on. Why don’t you believe in them? Did you ever watch _Scooby Doo_? _Courage the Cowardly Dog_? Who hurt you Chris?”

“Yeah, who hurt you, you debbie downer?”

Chris jumps, thumping his knee against the island. Ashley is giggling by his ear, taking her cold hands off his neck and all he can hear is Sam and Ashley’s laugh increasing by the second. The stupid thumping from before is back.

“Okay, thanks guys.”

Ashley has her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to stop a smile from forming. Chris’ eyes linger on the movement before he stares at her eyes. There are bags forming under them, that weren’t there before. He wants to ask if everything’s okay, but Ashley’s already speaking and she’s already, probably, confined in Sam. “Did we hurt your feelings Chris?”

Chris snorts, getting off the stool. “Uh. No. You need more than that to hurt this retro loving badass.”

Sam makes a face. “Retro?”

Ashley pads towards the fridge, where she’s taking out a jug of apple juice. She says, “Yeah, apparently he only watches retro anime.”

Sam smiles. “No you don’t. You’re such a loser.”

“Oh, okay, thanks and goodbye! I’ll be taking a shower and looking presentable.”

Sam screams, “for once” as he exits the kitchen. A thump, thump, thump, thump, following him from the attic as he climbs the stairs.

It quiets down once the bathroom mirror’s all fogged up from the heat of the running water. Chris lets his mind swim as the water palpitates against his shoulders, runs down his face and his eyes feel like they’re on fire from lack of proper rest.

A part of him feels like this was a good decision. To listen to Sam’s request to move over here and start fresh and new.

 _Fresh and new_ , Chris snorts.

It doesn’t feel fresh or new, but more nostalgic and quiet. Maybe it’ll change. Maybe it’s just because they’re new. He needs to let himself adjust, yet he’s done this too much. Move, move, move and move. He doesn’t need adjusting. But they are probably the only young and dumb enough adults living in Animas.

This is just a resort for the elderly, or so it seems, and that hand full of kids with eyes a bit too dark, faces a bit too soulless, inhuman. Children shouldn’t look like that. At least not back from where he was from.

Chris runs a hand with shampoo through his hair. 

He hears laughter from downstairs, it sounded like Ashley. Boisterous yet soft it was a pleasant sound. Chris liked it. He turns the handle, water coming to a stop after he’s done rinsing himself. And his day, kind of, progresses like that. Boring and uneventful, too slow, honestly, he’d rather be asleep or playing some game on the PS4, waste his day away on the couch, or the bed, on his phone.

Instead he’s in his car, parking in front of a record shop. He wonders where the fog even came from, why it’s here, what’s going on, why he didn’t sleep a little earlier yesterday, why do we even need to have jobs. Why is he applying for work across the country? Chris takes a deep breath. He exits his car, beeping it close and strolling towards the entrance.

He answers all the queries thrown his way, even question a few things himself. Chris shouldn’t be exhausted by the time he’s done, but he is. He stops at a gas station, lonely and blank, except for that one white Silverado parked on lane 5. The sidewalk’s cracked and it smells a bit too much of gas and cigar, it’s not a good mixture.

The door jingles when he enters, a blonde girl says ‘Welcome’ afterwards, looking away from their customer, for a second. Chris makes his way towards an aisle where he finds a bag of _Trolli_ sharks. He takes them and then another for Ashley.

He hears a honk from outside when he’s in line, a ‘tsk’ from the woman leaning over the counter. They’re all hushed whisperers with the employee, who has a nice rosy blush over their cheeks, one which was scarred with lines. Chris noticed her forehead and nose bridge were too.

“I guess I’ll see you later then?”

“I guess you will.”

And with that Chris is in front of the register, two bags of sour candies placed in front of him.

“Will that be all?”

Chris nods, giving them the amount money due flashing on the register.

Time goes by too slow, by the time he’s back with Ashley, Sam already gone to work, he’s laying on the couch, slowly, chewing on candy as Ashley sits next to him doing the same, a stupid movie playing on the tv.

“Bad day?”

Chris thinks about it. It hasn’t even been a full day. No, it hasn’t really been a bad day, but still it’s been a _bad fucking day_ so far. He woke up to a start drenched in sweat from some weird hazy nightmare yesterday in the afternoon. Naps were never good to begin with. After that he couldn’t sleep. And if he couldn’t sleep, he’d lay awake at 3 in the morning thinking about his life choices, where he’s going in life, what is life anyway?, until he passed out sometime between 4 or 5.

“No. Not really. I’m just really tired.”

Ashley makes a noise, as if to agree with him. Chris idly wonders what her day’s been like before the tv turns to static, producing a horrid, ear piercing cry as a thump comes from upstairs. Ashley yelps. Chris curses, scrambling towards the tv to turn it off, not knowing where he even left the remote.

“Jesus, fuck.”

Ashley’s breathing a bit hard, when he turns towards her. “You okay?” he asks his own heart calming down from its high.

“Y-yeah.” She gives a shaky laugh, running a hand through red, messy, strands. “Just wasn’t expecting that.” He looks at the floor. Little baby green and pink colored sharks scattered everywhere.

He scratches at his eyebrow.

“Some strong ass rats we have, right?”

Ashley’s smiling at him, but it’s blank. Her whole expression is tight and blank. He knows she wants to say something, Chris knows, and he should probably say, ‘Wanna talk?’ yet he only helps pick the gummies off the floor.

His week follows as such.

Wake up sometime in the day and stay in sweats waiting for a call back. Sam tells him Ashley’s in her room working on a novel she got commissioned for, so he should probably check up on her, every once in awhile, to make sure she’s okay and alive. He does.

He brings her coffee, takes cups away, brings her water bottles, a sandwich, open’s her windows to let the room breathe until Ashley declares she’s done. Proud little smile on her lips, Chris decides to kiss and then a bit harder because he got the job and now he has something to do.

“Wanna get burgers? I feel like burgers.”

Ashley and Sam both stare at Chris at the same time. It was kind of eerie. Sam checks the time on her phone, raising an eyebrow at him, “At 9:45PM?”

Chris huffs, “Yeah.” Then straightens himself up, leaning against the bed’s headboard. They’re all in their pajama’s in Sam’s room, where it smells too much of scented candles.

“I’m up for it.” Ashley pulls at his leg hair, before he shakes her hand away.

Sam looks at both of them. Chris is back on his phone. Ashley’s snuggling on her blankets, comfortable and at peace. “Fine. Okay. Sure.”

Chris says, “Thanks, babe.”

Ashley giggles and it’s such a sweet sound, Chris and Sam both smile at each other. He knows out of all of them, Ashley hasn’t been having the best experience here so far. Chris has seen her go from relaxed and nonchalant to jumpy and paranoid. It’s almost a full month since they’ve been living here. Chris is still trying to figure out if moving for a fresh and new start is really working out for them.

Ashley’s sitting in the back sit, Sam taking shotgun and Chris is backing out of their driveway.

Chris jokingly says, “Hope we don’t crash.”

Sam swats him on the arm. “Jeez, don’t say that.”

“Okay. But, I mean, look, it’s all fog. It’s way worse than when we first arrived. I bet that by the end of the month you won’t even be able to see an inch of what’s in front of you.”

Ashley kicks his sit. “Chris, shut up.”

Sam sweetly agrees, “Yeah Chris.”

The road’s illuminated by the orangy tint of the lampposts atop. There’s no one outside, no sign of human life. The stores and houses he’s passed so far are dark and void less.

He looks at the rearview mirror, back at Ashley, who’s leaning against the window, hair covering her face. “Put some of your emo music, Ash. Make this experience hella spookier.”

Ashley makes eye contact. She reaches for the aux cord dangling by the cup holder, _This Place Is Death_ filling their ears. Chris has a high school flashback that makes him shiver, before he hears Ashley laughing.

“Am I wrong or am I right?”

“Nah, you’re right. This place is fucking death. We’ll probably die here.”

Sam lowers the window, hair blowing everywhere. “You guys are so optimistic. I forgot why y’all are the joy of my life.”

Chris drives through pine trees. The lamp post disappearing and all he can see is a misty sort of darkness. He’s driven through these roads for weeks now. He knows where he’s going. He thinks he knows where he’s going. Chris hopes he knows where he’s going.

It isn’t after some random song he doesn’t really recognize that he starts seeing lamp posts again.

“Guess we’re alive and sad.”

“We?” Sam turns to him. “Why are _we_ sad?”

“Because we’re adults who had miserable childhoods, babe.” Ashley supplies from the back.

Chris nods. “And instead of going to college and having a horrible job, we’re driving in our pajamas across the globe, at 10PM, to a burger joint that’s open 24/7.”

Sam looks dumbfounded, “What.”

“I don’t know, I’m sleepy. I’m also pretty hungry.”

The burger joint Chris was talking about is situated on a far end corner, where there are trees and unoccupied businesses.

“ _Jack’s Pound Burger_?” Ashley snickers. “Chris,” Ashley pokes at his side. “Chris.” She’s about to make an ‘I think it’s funny, but it’s actually not’ joke, before Sam is linking their hands together, dragging her towards the glass doors. Chris rubs a hand at his left eye, following after them.

He sniffs when he enters, a nice appetizing scent filtering his nose. “Smells just like home.”

Sam snorts, “Smells like slaughter.”

“Ever the cheerful one,” Chris claimed behind her.

Chris ordered a combo, Ashley got the same and Sam ordered the veggie burger with a pink lemonade.

They’re all sitting on a corner booth, a song Sam recognized as _Archie, Marry Me_  playing overhead.

“So, Chris, how’s your job been so far?”

Chris is midway bite into his bacon burger when Sam questions him. Ashley sips from his cherry cola, eyes averting towards him.

He finishes chewing, wiping his mouth with a crumpled napkin. “Uh, good? Great. I met this dude, his name’s Josh. Also got a pretty cool coworker, so yeah, I think it’s good so far?”

Ashley actually looks interested in what he has to say. Chris is reminded of sophomore year of high school, when he was partnered up with Ashley and they’d both look at each other without missing a beat of what the other had to say. Now they just talked over one another or mimicked each other, for the shits and giggles because they felt like being assholes every once in a while.

Ashley nudges his knee with her foot. Both Sam and Ashley waiting for Chris to continue, Chris doesn’t really want to. He doesn’t know what to say.

Chris looks behind his girlfriends, towards the picture window, dark and overlooking a road lighted by lampposts. He doesn’t know if its fatigue, he doesn’t really want to know in general, but he’s pretty sure he just saw _something_.  He squints, looking a little harder, but whatever he saw wasn’t there anymore.

Ashley’s mouthing ‘Hey, hey marry me, Archie’ at Sam by the time he focuses back on them.

Sam later tells him he should go to sleep, two weeks later when Ashley’s finally getting enough sleep and they’re both on the couch, 3am. Chris is playing a game on the PS4 and Sam is staring at him intently. 

Chris kills one more Clicker before pausing the game, turning his undivided attention to Sam. He says, ‘Why?’ before squinting and correcting himself. “Why aren’t _you_ asleep?”

Sam gets a hollow look on her face; it’s gone in a second before she turns towards the tv. “I was asleep before you woke me up.”

Chris winces, he couldn’t remember whether or not he was even cursing at the game, the volume was on low. “Sorry. But yeah, couldn’t really sleep.” And he to pushes away any intruding thought of why exactly he can’t sleep. Why he doesn’t want to, even if he was to go to work in a few.

Sam places a hand on his knee, scooting a little closer, Chris can feel the heat radiating off her body. “You wanna talk?”

“To be honest? No.”

Sam nods, “Okay. Sure. Mind if I use your lap as a pillow?”

Chris really likes Sam’s eyes. He loves how they glimmer in the sun. He loves how they look early in the morning when she’s just woken up and seeing them glassy and sleepy. He really adores her eyes and their depths.

So when Sam has a certain look to them like right now, one Chris can’t really pinpoint, he leans forward. Sam’s breath fans his lips before he’s softly pressing a chaste kiss on them. He pulls back, smiling, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Go ahead. I’m all yours.”

Sam huffs out a laugh.

Chris is back to unpausing the game. Sam laying her head on his lap, facing the tv yet again. A bark comes from outside, Sam shifts a little. Chris can feel every movement as she murmurs drowsily. “Remember that one time in senior year? When you thought skipping was a good idea and you almost cried afterwards when we got caught?”

“Ha. Yeah.”

Chris does. Chris knows what she’s talking about, there’s no way he’ll forgot that day because jumping that fence could have saved him from a week's worth of detention.

But he didn’t.

The principle was outside in his little golf cart looking thing and busted them. He remembers hearing his old, funny voice, hollering after them, ‘Hey! What d’you think you’re doing!’ and Ashley panicking, Sam trying to calm both of them down and Chris being 0.5 seconds away from screaming ‘Make a run for it’.

But they didn’t.

They waited and were sited in a blue chair, in a cold room where the walls were chipping and too white and irritating.

“Kinda miss those days.”

Chris bounces his leg, Sam pulls pinches him.

“Ouch! Jeez Sammy, show some love.”

Sam wiggles around until the back of her head is on his lap, her face looking up at his face. “Some love? And since when do you show me some love, huh?”

Chris pauses the game. The room goes a bit darker. Chris cranes his down, locking eyes with Sam’s.

He hums, “I could show you some love right now?”

Sam makes a tired sound that resembles a laugh a lot, “Go for it, big man.”

The position is awkward. His back kind of hurts already, his neck feels pinched, but Sam meets him halfway. Propping herself up and they’re kissing.

It’s too quiet. His ears ring. There’s a loud bang of a door shutting from upstairs and Chris breaks away, flinching from the sound.

Sam laughs, “Didn’t know you were a scaredy cat, Chrissy?”

Chris flicks her nose, saying ‘Shut up’ with no real malice. He feels like going upstairs and checking up on Ashley, but Sam questioning him before he knows it.

“Are you glad we moved or not?”

Chris doesn’t really know why they moved. He tries to understand but, he doesn’t know when it comes down to it other than Sam having gone through a really bad period for a while there, to the point she suggested moving over here because it would do good for them. This was their big chance. She talked about this place as if it was magical, a whole new undiscovered world that would bring them fortune.

“Wouldn’t really mind the city.”

Sam goes ‘Oooo’. She yawns and stretches, gets up and rubs his head, “Go to sleep.”

Chris does at 5:55AM, when the sky is in shades of a deep oceanic blue, purple and pink. It won’t be like that forever, he knows. Each day it keeps on getting gloomier, gloomier, and a bit too gray. Too eerie.

He doesn’t know what to say at all during the following weeks, when they’re a full month into living in a secluded place and he keeps on going through some really…weird shit.

And it at all kind of started after Ashley’s accident. Finding her on the floor, taking her to the hospital, Chris doesn’t even want to remember the hospital or anything at all.

Chris knows he’s messing up. This will come and bite him in the balls one day, yet he can’t stop. He doesn’t know when or how exactly it started, but he’s spending more and more time at some place he shouldn’t want to be in, when he has two people waiting for him.

Yet there’s something else other than Sam and Ashley waiting for him there too, where he should be feeling safe and at home. Chris doesn’t want to know what exactly it is. It just doesn’t feel so nice. And spending time with new people, who keep on making him feel things, does.

Maybe.

Chris shuffles around 'Two Turn Tables', the record shop on Kils, a box of old cassettes tucked under his arm. _Talking Heads_ plays overhead, quietly thinking alongside the silence in his mind. He moves through long rows of CDs towards the back. An empty stand with a colorful 'Clearance' sign dangling from the ceiling.  
  
It's close to 9, maybe closer to 8:30, Chris isn't sure but the dull atmosphere has never seemed so soothing. Chris thinks it's probably because he's woken up three different nights in a cold sweat with a voice in his head that makes him wish he never left home.

  
There was no home to go back to though. Not anywhere that wasn't Animas.  
  
Chris angles the box to the side, wedging it into the narrow space between the empty stand and a wire box full of junk shit he forgot to throw out yesterday. The box doesn't look stable but it doesn't move so Chris begins filling the stand, thumbing over old mix tapes and cassettes labeled 'classics'. It's boring, mind numbing work but easy, easy to fill up something empty full of forgotten things.  
  
Chris grasps a smaller cassette, colored blue with fading ink that smears against his fingers. White 'x' dot the edges, blackened tape peeling thin strips and there's writing in the center, clear red words that read 'Musings'. It reminds Chris of the creepy box Ashley had found when they moved in. He wanted to trash it but Ashley held onto it, claiming it was full of secrets.  
  
Ashley.

Chris sighs heavily, a headache beginning to blossom along his right temple. He knuckles the corner of his eyes, readjusting his glasses afterwards. Chris feels tired. Exhausted, but it's been hard staying in that house when things keep moving and Ashley wakes up in places she never fell asleep in. She said ghosts, Sam said it's an old house.  
  
"Girl troubles?"  
  
Chris startles, elbow smacking into the box as he lunges forward. It tumbles from its fragile positioning, stumbling to the floor with a loud clatter as a soft 'shit' sounds from behind him. Chris whips around, hand easing the growing bruise he can feel from when his knee hit the stand.  
  
Josh Washington beams back at him, an apologetic smile curved onto his lips. Chris doesn't think he knows the meaning of tired when he looks at Josh and sees years of nightmares weighing under bright grey eyes.  
  
"You scared the actual shit out of me." Chris exhales.  
  
Josh winces, "that's kinda gross, bro."  
  
"Fuckin- Josh, dude." Chris sputters and Josh laughs at him, deep and raspy. Chris waves him off, kneeling down to begin the grudging task of picking up the spilled contents. Josh wanders over to him, worn vans scuffing against the tile floor. He sinks to his knees beside Chris, reaching to help. Josh collects two at a time while Chris stumbles at tossing cassettes back into the box.  
  
"'s that?" 

Chris hums in response, still picking up cassettes. Josh nudges him in the side. Chris turns to him with an annoyed huff. Josh gestures to the cassette in Chris' hand, eyes peering curiously at the slight stains on Chris' skin. Chris shows him the cassette, wiped mostly clean by Chris' palm, skin a light shade of blue.  
  
"Found it in here."  
  
"Nice. We should listen to it."  
  
Chris snorts, "Unfortunately we don't have a cassette player here."  
  
"You're a record shop." Josh narrows his eyes. "How do you not?"  
  
"We sell records, bro."  
  
"You have cassettes, dude." Josh smirks.

Chris gives up, shoving the tiny tape into Josh's open hand. He scoops the rest of the cassettes into the box, pulling it up with him. Josh studies the tape, folding it over in his hands.  
  
"I wanna know what's on it."  
  
Chris begins restocking the stand, nodding absently at Josh's words. He wanted to hear it to, whatever it was, whatever musings someone took the time to record and save. Josh uses the waistband of Chris' jeans to hoist himself up, nearly causing Chris to drop the box again, face going hot with frustration as Josh laughs in his ear.  
  
"I gotta cassette player at home."  
  
Chris glances back at him, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "You can't just steal my find, bro."  
  
"Come listen to it with me." Josh murmurs absently, still too close, too warm.  
  
"Yeah, yeah okay." Chris tries not to sound relieved when Josh moves away.  
  
"What time ya get off, Cochise?" Josh asks from somewhere behind him.  
  
"4." Chris responds easily, arranging the cassettes into some semblance of order.  
  
"Nice. I'll pick you up then. Buuuut for now," Josh sings. "I need a shitty jazz CD to take to my sisters."  
  
Chris looks back at him. Josh is bent over a row of CDs, idly flipping through the 'A' section for jazz.  
  
"Didn't know you had sisters, bro."

Honestly, Chris didn't know shit about Josh Washington other than that he had money and an interesting taste in Korean horror films. Josh was sort of this illusive person who stumbled into 'Two Turn Tables' the day Chris started working there. He never stayed too long, just sat on the counter talking absently about films and the progression of German cinema over the years.  
  
Josh had even brought Chris food a few times over to course of the day because he "felt like it, don't make this weird, bro". Chris liked him. He was the only real feeling person in this place it seemed.  
  
Josh mumbles out a 'yeah' that sounds more like a sigh than an arrangement of syllables. He plucks a CD up, rotating it around as he squints at the back.  
  
"You listen to Miles Davis?" Josh raises an eyebrow at the CD.  
  
"Nah." Chris answers, breaking the empty box down once he sets the last of the cassettes in the stand. "Ash likes John Coltrane though. So I guess that'd be a good choice too."  
  
"Ash your girlfriend?" Josh queries, glancing over at Chris.  
  
"One of them."  
  
Josh grins at that. "My, my Cochise, didn't take you for the type."  
  
Chris flushes. "N-No. We're all dating. Each other? Yeah." 

Sometimes the dynamic felt weird, felt a little more of Sam and Ashley than Sam, Chris and Ashley. It's mostly his fault but Chris doesn't believe in fucking ghost. He believes in having a shitty childhood and growing up being an okay adult instead of a cardboard box made of media filled ideas that are shaped like success. Chris should probably go home after work, not with Josh.  
  
"Nice." Josh smirks. He gestures to the speakers overhead. "What shit are you even listening to? Put on some sweet jams, man."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with Talking Heads." Chris grumbles but moves towards the counter anyway. He slides between Josh and the CD stand, ignoring the slow smile Josh sends him as he passes. Chris slips behind the counter, climbing two steps before reaching the register, a computer situated beside it. He fumbles with his phone, scrolling through his selection of songs.  
  
Chris grins when he stumbles upon _Unravel_. He clicks play, listening to the voice float through the speakers. Chris turns to Josh, who is in his usual spot on the counter. Josh's lips twitch, a grimace beginning to form as the song continues. He turns to Chris, eyebrows raised.  
  
"Fuckin' serious?"  
  
"It's a good song."

"This is some serious weeabo bullshit, bro." Josh snorts and Chris laughs, snatching the cd in Josh's hand. He scans it, mouthing off the total in a robotic tone that has Josh chuckling. Josh slaps him with a twenty and hops off the counter before Chris can hand him the change.  
  
"Keep it." Josh shrugs, taking the CD. He waves as he waltzes towards the entrance. "I'll be back at 4."  
  
Chris stares down at the change then back to the now closed door to the record shop door. He pockets the cash, feeling his cheeks ache from how long he's been smiling. Chris doesn't even remember moving his face.  
  
"God." Chris slouches against the counter. He glances at the clock. Many more hours to go. Chris busies himself with tasks left behind by his boss and actually takes the trash box from yesterday.  
  
Time ticks by slowly, so slowly that Chris is able to make a mini platform out of pop CDs because he can. He calls it the 'Medio Tower' and labels it as such with sharpie written on tape, setting it beside the register for his boss to read when he comes in tomorrow.  
  
Chris sweeps the floor, dusts the shelves while _On With The Show_ plays through the speakers. He startles upon seeing Sam standing at the counter, smirking when Chris drops his dust pan. There's a bag in her hand, reading 'Thank you' in bright red letters.  
  
"You scared the shit out of me." Chris breathes. Two times today. This is how he was going to die, heart attack, channel 2 tells the story of the record shop employee who was scared shitless. Sam holds up the bag.

"Brought you food. I'm on break." Sam sets the bag on the counter. "Got a minute?"  
  
"Yeah." Chris says, wandering over to the front door. He flips a sign around, changing the tiny plastic clock dangling around the knob to 15. Sam follows him to the back room, nose wrinkling at the mildew smell. The ceiling had a leak, a clink clink coming from water dripping into a pail situated in the corner.  
  
Chris slumps down at the plastic table, taking Sam's bag from her outstretched hand. He pulls out two containers, setting one down in the empty spot beside him, the other in front of him. Sam takes a seat, folding one leg over the other.  
  
"How's the shelter?" Chris asks, popping the lid off. A heady smell fills his senses, glasses fogging up immediately against the steam. Chris sighs. Sam chuckles, patting his knee. Her fingers linger before she pulls them away.  
  
"Okay." Sam responds. "How's the shop?"  
  
"Okay." Chris parrots. He wipes his glasses on his shirt, smoothing the scratchy fabric along the glass. Sam makes a noise and takes the glasses from his hands. She cleans them with her shirt, soft and cotton.  
  
"Good thing I bought scratch protection." Chris jokes.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him. "Har har. I don't think even your glasses could survive the raggedy shit you're wearing."  
  
Chris scoffs. "It's not raggedy. It's vintage."  
  
"So," Sam smiles. "Raggedy?"  
  
"Shut up, Sam."  
  
Sam giggles, handing him his glasses back. Chris slides them onto his face, vision crisp and clear and vivid. Funny thing about glasses, they always seemed brand new after you cleaned them. Sam's hand is back on his knee, expression soft but serious and Chris knows she wants to talk about Ashley.  
  
He just wants to eat.  
  
"Chris."  
  
Chris sighs in response, folding his hand over hers. He knows he's being a bit difficult but he doesn't want to talk about it, about Ashley, about their 'new beginning' that doesn't feel as new and bright as it did before. It feels old, old and shaky like the lives they left behind. Feels like fields in Nebraska, empty.

"Can we not.. talk about it?" Judging by Sam's expression, it's not what she wanted to hear but there's understanding there because she's been talking to him about Ashley for two weeks now and it's all the same.  
  
"Okay." Sam says softly. She leans forward, fingers digging into Chris' thigh as she pushes out of her seat, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Chris kisses back, reaching up to cup her jaw.  
  
"Later?" Sam asks, lips lingering. Chris nods. Sam smiles and returns to her seat. They eat in silence, words bouncing around in Chris' head as he struggles to think of something to talk about that isn't Ashley. Chris can't find words and eventually Sam leaves him in the back room with a kiss pressed to his forehead.  
  
Chris tries not to sigh.  
  
Josh shows up an hour later, right before 4, when Chris' relief, Frankie is walking in, blond dreads tied up into a bun. Chris wasn't sure how old Frankie was but he knew he was older than him. Frankie smiles at Chris as he heads to the back, white teeth a pleasant contrast to the deep brown of his skin. Josh's gaze lingers after him before settling on Chris, expressive eyes brightening.  
  
"You eat today?"

Chris nods. "My lady brought me food."  
  
"Aww. And to think I almost slaved away in a drive thru for you." Josh tsks softly. He smiles. "You ready to listen to the mystery tape?"  
  
Chris had forgotten about it and it must show based on the disappointed face Josh makes. It's gone as quickly as it arrived, masked behind another bright smile. Chris bites his bottom lip. Josh's eyes lock onto the movement before flickering back up.  
  
"Yeah." Chris says, cheeks warming.  
  
Frankie saddles up to Chris, fist bumping Josh's outstretched hand with a familiar ease.  
  
"Today slow? This place is sparkly." Frankie rubs a finger down the counter. "It squeaks. Listen."  
  
His finger does in fact squeak as it slides across the counter again. Frankie clasps Chris on the shoulder with a wide smile as Josh chuckles.  
  
"You two got plans? Josh only ever comes around if he's chasin' ass." Frankie winks at Josh.  
  
"Dude, no." Chris sputters, the same times Josh says, "If he'll have me."  
Chris gasps loudly and Frankie laughs, loud and booming. "Just fuckin' with ya, man."  
  
"Cochise here has two girlfriends anyway."  
  
Frankie gives Chris a scrutinizing look. "Didn't know you were that kind of guy."  
  
Chris rushes to defend himself, "we're all dating each other."  
  
Relief flushes over Frankie's features, smile returning as he shuffles Chris out the cash wrap.  
  
"Good. Didn't want to have to change my opinion of you. Seem like a good kid." Frankie tells him. It makes Chris' stomach warm. "Go clock out, I got this."  
  
"Yeah, Chrissy, go clock out." Josh winks and Chris groans, embarrassed as he wanders away from them, their dickish laughter following after him. Chris punches his time cars, sliding it back into his assigned place holder. He swipes his car keys from his locker, sliding into a wrinkled parka.  
  
Josh is waiting for him by the counter, lean body bent over as he plays with a couple of loose dreads spilling from Frankie's bun. Frankie shoos him off with a fatherly snort of annoyance. Josh snickers, straightening up, hands sliding into the back pockets of his jeans. He beams when he notices Chris.  
  
"Wanna walk?" Josh asks, backing up to the door. Chris follows after him, waving bye to Frankie before heading outside.

"You live near here?"  
  
"Nah." Josh smirks. "It's a nice day though so I walked here. Clean air helps clear the mind."  
  
Chris isn't sure what clean air Josh is referring to when the sky is a hazed fog of grey and white. He thinks he's only seen the sun once or twice since they moved here. Chris points to his car parked along the curb.  
  
"I have a car."  
  
Josh pouts. "Fine."  
  
Chris rolls his eyes, clicking unlock on his key ring. The headlights cut on as Chris rounds to the driver side, Josh sliding into the passenger seat with the petulant look of a child. He doesn't steal the aux cable like Ashley would, doesn't adjust the seat like Sam, instead he sits rigidly in the seat.  
  
Chris slides the key into the ignition, switching it on with a flick of the wrist. Josh tenses beside him before fumbling with his seatbelt. Chris mimics the gesture.  
  
"Where do you live?"  
  
"On Jodeco."  
  
Chris raises an eyebrow at him. "Thought you were rich?"

"Shut up, Cochise." Josh remarks, less fire and snark than usual. He looks a little frazzled, hands folded in his lap, knuckles white as they grip the ends of his shirt. Chris wants to ask but he doesn't think Josh would answer, instead he listens to Josh rattle off directions with a clipped tone.  
  
Chris has only been on Jodeco once but he doesn't remember this older apartment complex being along the road. It's faded brick and red, blackened clouds hovering over it. Josh tells him to park behind a dark blue Honda so he does, along the curb, probably too close based on the way Josh winces when the tires scrape against gravel.  
  
"You suck at driving." Josh comments once they're on the sidewalk and it's almost the usual tone he speaks in, fluid and raspy instead of terse and short.  
  
"I suck at parallel parking." Chris corrects. Josh smiles at that, nodding towards a set of rusty metal doors up a ting flight of stairs. Chris follows him, listening to the harsh buzz after Josh punches in his security code. They take the stairs because "elevator's broken" and it's only two floors but Chris feels like dying once they reach Josh's apartment door.  
  
Chris isn't sure what he was expecting Josh's apartment to look like, maybe like the outside, shabby and old but it's not. It's all neutral tones, brown and grey and black with framed movie posters on the wall. There are no picture frames or any semblance of family anywhere to be seen, bare and impersonal decorations lining the coffee table. A set of cacti sit in the large windows, green and fat. Chris isn't sure how they've survived.

Josh locks the door behind him, toeing off his boots before leaving the foyer. Chris does the same, hanging his coat up on a hook in the wall. The apartment is an open floor plan, more like a studio with a sliding velvet black curtain separating part of the room. Chris can barely make out a bed, sheets stripped and wrinkled, blanket on the floor.  
  
"Want a drink?" Josh asks from the kitchen, which is bigger than Chris would expect in such a limited space.  
  
"Yeah." Chris says, wandering into the living area. There's a projector drilled into the ceiling, a small desk with a computer in the corner. A worn burgundy couch sits in the center, facing a blank wall. Chris slumps down on it. He can hear the ticking of a clock.  
  
Josh plops down beside him, a beer bottle pressed to his lips as he hands Chris an open one.  
  
"You slip something in this?"  
  
"I wouldn't need to." Josh winks. Chris should've kept his mouth shut. He takes a drink, sour and bitter like coffee.  
  
"Nice place." Chris comments.  
  
Josh shrugs, setting his beer onto the floor. He reaches underneath his couch, tugging out an old tape player. The words are faded, buttons chipped or broken but it makes a soft beeping noise when Josh slips the 'Musing' tape inside. He doesn't hit play.  
  
"Wanna get high?"

Chris chokes on a mouthful of beer. He coughs wetly. "God. That's bad. Before or after the tape."  
  
Josh grins, "kinda thinking both. Beer tastes pretty bad. Jess sent it to me."  
  
"Who's that?"  
  
"Friend." Josh answers simply, pushing himself up. He wanders behind the curtain, Chris able to see more of what lies behind. A night stand with a broken alarm clock, two empty bottles of pills and a clear vial. Josh reappears with a tin coffee can and a glass bong, tinted pink and orange. He notices Chris looking, glancing back at his nightstand before snapping the curtain closed behind him.  
  
Chris clears his throat, Josh doesn't comment but he does slump down beside Chris, pressing the tape player into his lap as he pops the can open. Josh procures a nugget of dark green cannabis, breaking it up with his fingers as he places tiny pieces inside the tiny bowl. Chris watches, a bit transfixed with how calm Josh appears right now, motions fluid and practiced. Chris wonders how often he does this alone.  
  
Josh lights the bong, mouth already placed and ready. Smoke folds along the sides, swirling large clouds as it floats up. Josh's eyes slide closed, shoulders slumping and he inhales. Chris thinks of that vine, the words 'wow' bubbling in his mind as Josh exhales into the air, head lulled back on the couch. He passes it to Chris, smiling softly, eyes still closed.  
  
Chris takes it from him, skin brushing skin, and there's a tickle along his spine that reminds him of when he first met Ashley.  
  
Ashley.  
  
Chris doesn't want to think about it. Josh passes him a faded lighter with a pickle on the front. Chris' thumb scratches across the element, eyes skipping closed as he inhales slowly. It's all heavy smoke, bitter and soft and he passes it back to Josh, who does the same. It repeats and repeats until minutes feel like a solid, sludge haze.  
  
Chris opens his eyes again when he hears Josh talking.  
  
"-s fucked up, bro. This lady seems really wack."  
  
"Hmmm?" Josh pouts at Chris as if realizing that Chris wasn't listening. "Sorry, bro."  
  
"Listen."  
  
"-there is something in the fog. People missing." A woman's voice rings through the air, pretentious and heavy. "They keep saying monsters. Monsters aren't real but man is, so is God."  
  
"That's weird, man." Chris murmurs.

"It's your tape, Cochise." Josh laughs. "Want another hit?"  
  
Chris wasn't sure. He keeps finding his phone and losing it. Chris finds it hilarious but Josh nudges him roughly. Chris turns to him, vision dragging along like an afterthought. There's a shadow hovering around Josh's head, glistening black mist. It sparkles, beads of sand tumbling along the collar of Josh's flannel. The shape they form reminds him of Rudolph. It's hilarious.  
  
Josh nudges him again, smiling widely, gaze unfocused and lazy and Chris only laughs harder, falling back onto the couch. He kicks out his legs, studying white fabric of his socks.  
  
"I've been trying to think of how many ways I could kill myself without leaving stains in the carpet. Be considerate to the living you leave behind. Isn't that what they say?"  
  
Chris squints, focusing back on the playing tape sitting in Josh's lap. The voice sounds like Josh's, distorted and warped but Josh isn't speaking, head slumped down on his shoulders, smiling softly.  
  
"The similarities between the beetle and the spider are aside from anatomy, the beetle is good for gardens. Spiders are meant to be stuck, squished and smashed into goop."  
  
Chris doesn't think he's high enough to be imagining his mother's voice but it's been three years since he's heard it and he's never been more sure of whose voice is speaking now.  
  
"The land is life. It's holy. You must give back to the earth what you took from it. Give in to nature. It will give to you."  
  
"This is some wack shit." Josh tells him. "Where'd you find this?"  
  
Chris gestures with his hands. "Box. I forgot to pay for it."  
  
Josh giggles. "Ahh, bro. You're gonna get arrested."  
  
Chris gasps. He had never considered that.  
  
"I'm too cool for jail."  
  
Josh's giggles turn into full blown laughter, loud and hoarse like he couldn't produce any other kind of noise. Chris slaps his shoulder. Josh raspberries, pushing the tape player into Chris' lap as he struggles to stand.  
  
"Let's give our lady a soundtrack." Josh says from somewhere behind the couch. Chris doesn't remember him moving. He traces a faded word on the tape player, only the letter 'E' remaining. Pause. Erase. Record. Rewind. It could be anything.  
  
"They've taken Angie. She has been chosen. I pray to God that she is pure. I have seen her with the farmer boy down the lane. He is smitten with her and I know she sees him as filth yet she allows him to touch her. Mother says she will not last the test." The woman speaks, not Josh, not Chris' mother. Music fills the room, another woman singing softly.  
  
Josh is back beside Chris on the couch, dressed different, in loose sweats and a worn 'Super Dad' shirt with burn holes collecting along the front. Josh takes the tape player back. Chris leans against him.  
  
"The holy will be placed on the altar and they will be given calling. Fire shall cleanse their bodies and purify as mother said they would. The damned will crisp and fry as the chosen will be lifted to heaven. God blesses the damned with earth, earth is eternal, earth is what you will give back. What we return to."

Josh shifts, lifting his arm up to lean against. He stares blankly down at the machine, eyes moving as the gears turn. Chris sighs. Josh snickers.  
  
"How high are you, bro?"  
  
"Shhh." Chris says and Josh laughs harder. Chris cranes his head to look up at the other boy, chin digging into Josh's shoulder. Josh raises an eyebrow at him, humor evident in his face. Chris thinks the bags under Josh's eyes match his loud personality, despite how bright he is, Josh's eyes dimmer and hollow like black orbs under star light.  
  
"Whaaaat, man?" Josh whines. Chris realizes how hard he's staring, how close they are and straightens, face going hot as he fumbles back on the couch.  
  
"I wonder if hell's fire will consume Angie. If she will return to me as others have."  
  
It's hard to focuses on the voice when Josh is offering Chris another hit. Chris thinks he might've said no but he isn't sure because Josh's hand is on his knee, mouth hovering around the piece. He's inhaling slowly, it looks slow at least but Chris thinks that maybe he could stare at Josh's mouth forever. Chris leans back, Josh leaning forward, chests pressed close, hand sliding up further. His eyes slip closed again, lips parted, brushing against Josh's and Josh exhales as Chris inhales.  
  
"No homo." Josh breathes softly like a whisper. The hand slips away. Chris opens his eyes. Josh isn't there. The room is dark, a misty white sparkle floating down from the ceiling. His neck aches. Chris straightens up, hands sliding along something slick and rubbery. He struggles to his feet, blinking furiously as his eyes adjust to the darkness. A loud clatter echoes as his phone tumbles to the floor.  
He's still in Josh's apartment but it's not the same. A soft glow pulses through the floor, steam floating up through crudely made cracks. Chris can make out the bulky shape of an old broken dresser. He bends down to pick up his phone, wincing at the nasty crack covering the screen. Chris fumbles with swiping it unlocked, nearly sighing in relief when he realizes his flashlight works.  
  
There's a hole in the wall before him, cracked and jagged with maggots crawling along the edges. A hand sticks out of it, heavily scarred and bleeding, silver white band wrapped around one of the fingers. Chris turns his light away, taking in how small the room he's in is. Dread beats at the curve of his spine. The dresser seems closer, couch visibly decaying before him. Smoke is forced out one of the vents, sour and burning.  
  
Chris tries not to breathe it in, lungs already working to expel what small part he's inhaled. He coughs raggedly, throat burning as he struggles to breathe. His skin curls at the wet squelch coming from behind him. Chris turns back to the hole in the wall, bringing the front of his shirt up to his mouth. The arm is slowly inching further into the hole, fingers rearranged to where the index finger beckons him. The vent expels another wave of nauseous gas. The room shrinks again.  
  
Chris climbs into the hole.  
  
It's dark, dark and wet and halfway his phone flickered out and died. Chris crawls forward, sleeves and pants soaked with an unknown substance. Chris doesn't think he wants to know. It feels like hours, probably minutes, but there's no sign of the tunnel ending anytime soon. His heart steadily pounds in his chest, every drip and disgusting slide of skin against the fleshy floors makes his stomach churn.  
  
Chris passes a window, slowing down to peer out. It's a field of burnt grass. A lone figure stands in the distance, staring up at a reddened orange sky. Chris moves forward, more tiny, round windows appearing. The scene remains the same. A field of grass.  
  
Chris hasn't had much experience with weed, most of it a blur that looks a lot like kids from his high school but he doesn't think it's supposed to be like this, feel like this and the rustic metallic smell, the slick, soft mounds he's working through seem all too real.  
  
"Spiders are good for keeping the earth clean and rid of pests. Flies. Did you know there are spiders that eat birds?" Chris frowns, gazing around the darkness to find the source. A bead of sweat trickles down his nose.  
  
"There are ones that burrow under rocks, waiting, watching. Some can bite through socks and clothes. Imagine. A power like that. God's perfect assassin."  
  
Chris hears it then a wet slap of skin hitting metal, feels the slight tremble under his palms. He glances over his shoulder, swearing softly when only inky blackness looks back at him. Chris continues forward, analyzing his options as the woman continues talking overhead about spiders and stag beetles, how insects fill the hearts of evil men and that is why they rot so fast.  
  
The ground begins to dry, become more solid and cold instead of wet warmth. There's a tiny ringing in the air, whooshing of loud hot air blowing through vents. Chris glances out another window, more shapely and solid, like the inside of plane. The field is gone. An eye stares back at him, large, unblinking and startling blue. There's a mouth in the next window, smiling, lips a deep shade of purple. Then a nose.  
  
Chris startles when it sniffs, a thin coat of fog collecting over the glasses. His hand slips, floor absent, and he stumbles down. Chris falls onto his back, the distance short enough that he doesn't break anything, hard meshed wire pressing up against him. Chris groans softly, rubbing the back of his head as he struggles to sit up. A row of seats lays before him, leading to a tall red door. 

Chris nearly sighs in relief, hearing a soft chattering of teeth coming from above him.  
  
His body freezes, blood rushing through his veins as he stares up. A head pokes out of the hole, faceless but it has ears, long and floppy. It heaves forward, groups of tiny arms moving it. Small fingers grasps at the hole as the body trembles, head turning from side to side as if listening.  
  
"Nothing. Here." A voice mutters, it sounds like two overlapped tunes, a man and a woman. "Nothing. H-Here."  
  
It clicks loudly, whining a bit before it slithers back inside the hole. Chris waits, listens to the slow slide as it heads back down the tunnel. His hands ache when he uncurls his fingers, heart beating rapidly as Chris struggles to process the chattering noise in his head. He crawls away from the hole, through the small path in between the seats. Chris slowly rises to his feet as he ventures deeper, glancing back at the hole he fell out of.  
  
It stares back, flat black like a painting. Like it isn't real. It's then that Chris realizes he's in a plane, oxygen masks released from their containers swaying back and forth despite no air blowing. The seats are beat up and torn, some with red stains, others without. Chris stumbles towards the door, trying to mask the slow curl of fear he's been fighting since he woke up in that room.  
  
A wheezing cough comes from a seat near the front. Chris pauses, the hair on his skin rising when the noise comes again. One of the oxygen masks snaps from behind him. Chris turns back, hand braced against the top of one of the seats. The hole remains empty but a shadow sits where the missing oxygen masks was. It doesn't move, just sits.  
  
Chris moves. It does nothing.  
  
"Okay, okay." Chris wets his lips, taking a few more steps forward. More snapping. More shadows where oxygen masks were, still unmoving and waiting. Chris is near the door when the chattering of teeth comes back, louder this time, more frantic.  
  
"Something. There."  
  
Chris isn't sure why he doesn't make a run for the door but he thinks he should've when he sees a bundle of tiny arms reaching for the edge of the hole. The ears are back, grey molten head coming into view as the chattering grows louder and louder. The shadows sit complacently.  
  
"Ah. Ah. It's. Here."  
  
Chris can't move, knees buckling as more arms appear, pulling that thing closer and closer. It's halfway out the hole, a giant sack of veiny, misshapen flesh, braced up on one, long spidery arm. The fingers flex along the floor. It trembles.  
  
"You. I." The chattering stops. "I. See. You." It cackles loudly, another spidery arm sliding from the hole and it's yanking itself from the hole. The entire lower half of its body is made of broken teeth and a snapping, bloody jaw.  
  
"I. SEE. YOU."  
  
Chris collides into one of the seats as he begins to run, feet fighting for purchase against the floor. The shadows begin clapping slowly as they watch him stumble towards the red door. Everything is shaking, trembling violently as large palms slap the ground as it hurries after him.  
  
Chris won't look back, won't look back. His hand touches the doorknob, a bellowing shriek echoing after him. Chris forces himself through, slamming the door closed. His eyes are closed he realizes, squeezed shut and his fingers refuse to move from the door knob.  
  
"Whoah dude, you okay?"  
  
Chris almost screams when he hears Josh's voice. His eyes shoot open, cheek resting heavily against the door. Chris can see the dark curtain of Josh's bedroom area, the bright light of grey clouds pressing against closed windows. A group of cacti.  
  
Chris struggles to breathe, shakily releasing the doorknob. He staggers backwards, colliding into Josh, who steadies him.  
  
"Cochise? Bro? You okay?"  
  
Chris wasn't sure but he's never fucking smoking again. Chris hurries back to the door, pulling it open quickly. There is no monster behind the door, no shadows or broken, busted plane seats. Just a bathroom, pale blue with a messy arrangement of hair products in the shower.  
  
"Chris?"  
  
"I gotta head home." Chris says, closing the door behind him. He turns back to Josh, who blinks at him. There's disappointment there but Josh nods quietly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweats.  
  
"Yeah okay." Josh mumbles.

They stand there in silence for a moment, Josh staring down at his feet, Chris staring at Josh and the idea of heading home to discuss his experience with Sam and Ashley suddenly didn't seem as appealing. Chris' mother used to tell him that he had no control of his imagination. Chris, three years later, is finally starting to believe her.  
  
"You gonna go, man?" Josh asks as if realizing Chris hasn't moved. "You look seriously bugged."  
  
"I think I'm tripping." Chris admits.  
  
Josh's lips purse in amusement. "Never heard that before from smoking weed but okay. Bad trip judging by the looks of it."  
  
Another moment of silence. Josh sits down on the arm of the couch, studying Chris closely. Chris recognizes the song playing from Josh's computer. _Catamaran_.  
  
"Usually people hightail it out of here." Josh continues. "You look like you wanna stay. Wanna stay, Cochise?"  
  
Chris nods.

  
 

 


End file.
